


Anti-kink: Sex on the beach

by ash_carpenter



Series: Anti-kink [12]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-21 00:22:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1531127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ash_carpenter/pseuds/ash_carpenter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Next instalment in my anti-kink series (archived <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=ash_carpenter&keyword=Anti-kink&filter=all">here</a> on LJ). This is one of my very favourites, so I hope that you enjoy! :D</p>
<p>Summary: Sam and Dean have a nice, romantic little interlude on a moon-drenched beach, and everything is beautiful and perfect...Heh. Yeah, right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anti-kink: Sex on the beach

**Sex on the beach**  
  
  
“You can’t be serious.”  
  
“What? It’ll be...”  
  
“If you end that sentence with ‘romantic’, I’m gonna kick your ass.”  
  
Sam straightened his shoulders defensively. “Wasn’t going to.”  
  
As if Dean was even capable of being romantic. And so what if Sam thought it would be nice to take a blanket and possibly a bottle of cheap wine down to the moonlit beach? It wasn’t that he wanted _romance_ ; he just thought that it might be kinda kinky to do it outside, that was all. Dean didn’t have to react like Sam was trying to read him poetry or something.  
  
“We’re gonna get sand in our cracks!”  
  
“Not if we take the blanket,” reasoned Sam, pointing at the item in question, which was lying on top of the picnic hamper.  
  
And yeah, okay, he had a hamper. So what? It was just that he needed an efficient way to carry the wine and cups, that was all. And the strawberries. Which he’d obviously only bought because they’d been on sale and they were the only fruit that Dean would eat without a pie crust being involved.  
  
Dean sighed. They were rarely actually on the coast, and the deserted beach was very pretty, and he really did like fucking Sam in the ass, but this clearly had ‘bad idea’ written all over it. In red crayon. And Sam had that determined, mulish look on his face with the ‘I want’ crease between his eyes, which hadn’t changed at all in the twenty-five years since he’d first perfected wrapping his brother around his little finger. But damn it, Dean had to try!  
  
“Okay, so Palo Alto’s by the beach. You must have been there with Jessica? Are you telling me that beach sex is ever as fun as it sounds?”  
  
“But we have a blanket!” persisted Sam stubbornly, as if that solved everything.  
  
“Right. And blankets repel sand and stop the wind from blowing.”  
  
Sam really didn’t appreciate Dean’s sarcasm at the best of times, and certainly not when he was trying to get laid. “Just shut up and put the hamper in the car.”  
  
Oh God, there was a hamper. Scowling, Dean snatched up the offending item, muttering and berating himself for being his little brother’s bitch. As he placed it on the back seat he passed a hand over his groin and was marginally surprised to find that yes, he actually did still have balls.  
  
Did Sam have any idea how itchy sandy balls were? This was such a bad idea.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Sam had spent a good ten minutes picking out the “perfect spot” while Dean trailed behind him, carrying the hamper and feeling about as pussywhipped as it was possible to feel without any actual pussy being involved.  
  
“For god’s sake, Sam, just choose one of the identical patches of sand and put the fuckin’ blanket down!”  
  
“I don’t want to be by any cigarette butts or bits of kelp, okay? Stop rushing me.”  
  
“ _Rush_? If you went any slower, you’d be going backwards!”  
  
Huffing in indignation, Sam finally found a place that passed inspection and shook out the blanket, ignoring Dean’s smirk when the wind blew it back into his face and then whipped it out of his hands, forcing him to run after it and stomp on it before it could land in the sea. After a few minutes and some strategically placed rocks to hold down the corners, the blanket was finally unfurled and in place.  
  
“Have you finished fussing with the corners yet, Miss Daisy?”  
  
“Your insults are getting stupider, however impossible that seems.”  
  
“Can it, Margaret, and lie on the blanket. I wanna fuck that sweet ass of yours.”  
  
“And you were worried this was gonna get romantic...”  
  
Chuckling, Dean grappled Sam down onto the ground, rolling himself on top of his little brother. “Well, hey there...”  
  
Sam smiled and cupped Dean’s face in his big hands, drawing him down for a long, sweet kiss. Their tongues touched softly as their lips moved sensuously together, Dean’s fingers trailing through Sam’s hair and their bodies pressed tight from chest to knee. As much as Dean didn’t want to admit that he was lulled by the gently lapping waves and the stars shining brightly overhead, he found himself inclined to be much more leisurely than usual, hands slowly drifting beneath Sam’s shirts and mapping out his smooth muscle.  
  
Dean rocked his hips lightly against Sam’s groaning quietly as he felt their respective arousal growing. Pulling back from Sam’s lips with a last nibble and grinning lazily, he tickled his fingers playfully down his brother’s sides. “So, want some wine? Since you bothered to pack it, you massive girl.”  
  
“Dude, we’re making out by moonlight – and I know that goofy smile of yours; you’re thinking how much you love me...”  
  
“Am not!”  
  
“You’re just as much of a girl as I am, admit it. And yes, I would love some wine, please. Such a gentleman...”  
  
“Screw you, douchebag,” muttered Dean, although he was trying to stifle a smile. Resting most of his weight on Sam, he leaned over and opened the hamper, sticking his hand inside without looking. He flinched back when he felt his fingers sink into something soft and wet. Oh God. “Sam? Did you put anything except wine in here?”  
  
“Yeah, there’s some strawberries.”  
  
“Oh, thank God,” he breathed; he’d been half sure that there were zombie guts in there. It wouldn’t be the first time supernatural entrails had ruined a sexy moment. But, wait a minute...Strawberries? What was he, Pretty Woman? “In case you’ve forgotten, I don’t actually have a vagina.”  
  
“No, but you do have a vitamin deficiency. Amongst other things...”  
  
“I’m in perfect shape. You should know; you spend enough time feeling me up.”  
  
“I don’t feel up your _insides_.”  
  
“Well, actually...”  
  
“Oh. Well, yeah, but...Just shut up and open the wine, Dean!” he demanded, pretending to be annoyed, but smiling when Dean stuck his tongue out at him.  
  
Dean fumbled around for a moment, grunting as if he was the one with nearly two hundred pounds of brother squashing the stuffing out of him.  
  
“What’s the problem, Dean? By the time you get around to opening it, it’ll actually be from a good year...”  
  
“I’m trying to find the corkscrew.”  
  
“The corkscrew?”  
  
“Yeah. You know, the twisty thing that actually opens the bottle?”  
  
“Oh,” replied Sam, the sound long and drawn out. “That corkscrew.”  
  
“You forgot it, didn’t you?”  
  
“No. I didn’t _forget_. I just...didn’t remember.”  
  
Dean sighed, put upon. “You know, considering how much planning went into this little seduction routine, your execution kind of sucks.”  
  
Eyes narrowing, Sam said breezily, “Oh, I didn’t realise that the great Dean “locked doors are no object” Winchester would be defeated by a little bottle of wine...”  
  
Glaring at Sam, annoyed with himself for reacting to his brother’s blatant attempts to deflect attention from his blunder, Dean snatched up the bottle with a flourish and sat up, straddling Sam’s hips. Slipping his hand under the blanket, he snatched hold of his knife and pulled it out, waggling at Sam.  
  
“Your bowie under the blanket? Dude, really?”  
  
“Can’t be too careful, Sammy. Besides, you never know when your idiot brother might forget vital pieces of equipment...”  
  
Sam snorted, eyes travelling over Dean’s body and lingering on his crotch, where his hard dick was nicely outlined. Sam licked his lips, thinking that all the equipment they really needed seemed to be present and accounted for...  
  
“Hey! Eyes are up here, princess,” winked Dean, shoving the tip of his hunting knife into the bottle’s cork.  
  
“Uh...are you sure you know what you’re doing?”  
  
“Of course!” Dean’s tongue peeked out of his mouth with concentration as he tried to stuff the blade far enough into the cork to twist and lever it out.  
  
Distracted by Dean’s tongue, Sam wasted a few moments dribbling on his chin and was too late with his warning. “Dean, don’t do that, you’re going to break the –”  
  
“Shit!”  
  
“Cork.”  
  
Irritated, Dean started gouging furiously with the knife, making a triumphant sound when the decimated lower half of the cork sprinkled down into the wine. Raising the bottle to Sam in a toast, he tipped it back, taking a long swallow as the stuffed the knife back under the blanket.  
  
“Let me guess. Corky?” suggested Sam, making a face of disgust.  
  
“No,” coughed Dean, trying to hide a grimace. “It’s fine.”  
  
“Right. Great, now you’ve ruined the wine!”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes. “How about I give you a buck fifty and we call it even?”  
  
“It was three seventy-nine, actually,” huffed Sam.  
  
“See, this is why you should always buy wine in boxes...”  
  
“Classy.”  
  
“I’ll show you classy,” growled Dean, tossing the bottle into the sand and flopping down on Sam, licking his way back into his mouth and immediately groping him intimately. He groaned as their groins rubbed together, pumping his hips forward.  
  
Sam would have been embarrassed about the whimper he let loose, if not for the fact that he was too busy being so goddamned instantly horny that he thought he might explode. Arching up, grabbing tight hold of Dean’s perfect ass, Sam humped up against Dean and then, unsatisfied with the leverage, flipped them over.  
  
“OW! Fuck!”  
  
And accidentally smacked Dean’s head on one of the rocks holding the blanket down...  
  
“Sorry.”  
  
“Good!” snapped Dean, rubbing his head and pouting. “What the hell are you doing anyway? I’m fucking your ass, remember? You lost that bet about whether or not I could eat a whole tube of Pringles in less than thirty seconds.”  
  
“I know,” agreed Sam, rotating his hips and rubbing up against Dean firmly, leaning down and nipping at his earlobe. “But I want to ride you...”  
  
“Oh.” Dean wasn’t going to admit it out loud, but that was totally worth getting his head smashed against a rock. “Well, okay then.”  
  
Sam didn’t waste any time. Within less than a minute, Dean found himself naked from the waist down – and yeah, okay, it was actually a little chilly, but he had way too much of a Y chromosome to complain or anything – and Sam was wrestling off his own jeans. Over his boots.  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
“I thought it would be quicker,” grunted Sam, tugging fruitlessly on his inside-out jeans, which were trailing over the sand and utterly failing to clear his left boot. He whined in frustration. “Shit.”  
  
“Yeah, good call...” muttered Dean, lacing his fingers behind his head and trying not to shiver. He could really do with a warm Sam blanket right about now. “Just leave them.”  
  
“Okay,” agreed Sam, shuffling back on top of Dean and leaning down to kiss him. They were soon rutting together again, Dean’s hard cock rubbing underneath Sam and over his balls, while Sam thrust against Dean’s lower belly, leaving tacky smears. “God, I love doing this out in the open with you.”  
  
“Mmmm, me too, Sammy,” murmured Dean. Except for when the cops showed up, but they couldn’t be that unlucky three times, right? Then again, they’d already stolen a nightstick, a hat and a set of handcuffs; if they managed to bag a uniform, they’d be able to try out that roleplay thing...  
  
“Want you inside me,” panted Sam, mouthing at Dean’s neck, and his brother nodded his hearty approval. “Where’s the lube?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“The lubricant.”  
  
“What?”  
  
Sam leaned back a little so he could look his dumbass brother in the eyes. “Lu-bri-cant. The slick stuff that makes the cock-in-ass game actually fun. Where did you put it?”  
  
“What do you mean, where did _I_ put it? This is your show, Juliet.”  
  
“Well, I obviously thought you were gonna bring it, since you were gonna top! And why am I Juliet?”  
  
“Because I’m Romeo! And you’re my...Uh. Anyway, are you –”  
  
“I’m your what? Girlfriend? One true love?”  
  
“No! Just...shut up.” Dean blushed. “Anyway,” he continued forcefully, practically daring Sam to interrupt him again, “are you trying to tell me that you somehow remembered strawberries and candles and poetry and all that crap, but forgot the lube?!”  
  
Sam pursed his lips. “Are you telling me that you were too incompetent to remember the one teeny tiny thing that _you_ were supposed to bring?”  
  
They glared at one another for a moment, before saying in unison, “You suck.”  
  
Dean sighed dramatically. “Fine. Looks like you’re gonna have to man up and make do with spit.”  
  
“Woah, what?” asked Sam, tensing as if he was thinking of making a break for it.  
  
“Don’t be a pussy; you’ll be fine. Come on, I’ll even let you sit on my face.”  
  
Confused to be grossed out at the same time that he was slapped by an almost dizzying wave of arousal, Sam settled for grimacing while saying eagerly, “Really?”  
  
Dean barely had time to utter an affirmative before he found his face full of ass. Granted, it was smoking hot Sam ass, but being able to breathe would still be nice. And how exactly had he ended up with a boot in his armpit?  
  
After some rearranging and general grumbling, Dean had Sam where he wanted him, and Sam was exactly where he wanted to be – namely, impaled on Dean’s tongue, cursing and thrashing around like he was riding rodeo.  
  
Dean soon decided that Sam must be wet enough, considering that his face was absolutely smothered in spit, and he pushed him off, uttering a surprised shout as he suddenly had a very enthusiastic tongue in his mouth, Sam kissing him hard and practically humping his leg. Damn, he loved the gratitude his puppydog little brother always showed after getting rimmed.  
  
“Down boy,” smiled Dean, pushing Sam’s hair back from his forehead and reaching down to grab a handful of his ass. “Come on; I believe I was promised the cowgirl?”  
  
Grinning, Sam got himself into position, rubbing Dean’s dick over his ass a few times before starting to settle back down onto it, hissing as his body adjusted. Dean grabbed his hips, steadying him and fighting the urge to just slam him down. Damn, he was sexy like that.  
  
“That’s it, baby,” encouraged Dean with a moan as he sank down. “So fuckin’ tight...”  
  
Once Sam had taken a moment to get used to the sensation, he began to move rhythmically, he and Dean soon getting into the groove and shifting seamlessly together. Sam leaned forward to kiss his brother as he rode him, Dean’s arms wrapping around his back and holding him tight. It was hot and sweet and damn near perfect.  
  
“AH! What the fuck!” shouted Dean, flinching violently and kicking out with his left leg, almost unseating Sam.  
  
“Hey! Jesus, Dean,” panted Sam, his ass twinging with pain. “What the hell, man?”  
  
Dean leaned up on his elbows and peered around his brother, seeking out the cause of the sudden flare of pain in his big toe.  
  
Son of a bitch...  
  
“That seagull just pecked me!”  
  
“What? Of course it didn’t,” refuted Sam, swivelling to look behind him. Sure enough, there was a bird there, a big one, but it blinked up at Sam innocently, its feathers slightly ruffled by the breeze. When Sam narrowed his eyes at it, it just cocked its head, a “who, me?” expression on its face.  
  
“It did! It just pecked my goddamned toe! Look at its beady little eyes.”  
  
“Oh, stop being so melodramatic. It probably thought you were food. Now that it knows you’re not, it’ll leave you alone.”  
  
Sam started grinding again, hoping to distract Dean, and it worked. His brother soon started rocking his hips, trying to thrust up from the ground. Although he did keep sneaking suspicious glances around Sam’s body.  
  
Dean had just about decided that Sam was right, relaxing back onto the blanket and closing his eyes, when the cheeky little fucker gave the other foot a stab, plunging forward with its razor-sharp bill.  
  
“OW!” snarled Dean, trying to kick the stupid freakin’ bird but missing and cracking his heel on the rock holding down the far right corner of the blanket instead. “Ow, fuck!”  
  
“What the hell are you doing? Stop jerking around!”  
  
“Easy for you to say! You’re not getting attacked by the evil killer bird from Hell!”  
  
Oh wow, that was it. The bird was evil! There was no other way to explain it. Dean said as much to Sam.  
  
“What? You don’t get evil seagulls!” argued Sam, still bouncing up and down on Dean’s cock while making his excellent point. Oh yeah, he had mad multi-tasking skills.  
  
“Well, do you see any other seagulls attacking innocent people, huh? There’s just no other explanation!”  
  
“Dean, stop worrying about the damned seagull and fuck me, would you?”  
  
Dean had to admit that it was a compelling argument. Screwing his little brother’s hot ass did seem more important than fretting about the demon seagull – and, oh God, could his life get any weirder? “Fine. But if it pecks me again, I’m salting and burning the fucker.”  
  
“Okay. But, you know, if you’d just kept your boots on, you wouldn’t be having this problem,” pointed out Sam smugly, indicating his own footwear (which was totally leaving muddy prints on Dean’s legs).  
  
“Shut up.” Dean gave a particularly hard thrust and was satisfied to hear Sam squawk in indignation. Heh, that would teach the little bitch.  
  
Five minutes later, the bird was completely forgotten as Dean hurtled towards what promised to be a knock-out orgasm, his ass pumping up and down in counterpoint to Sam’s hips slamming back into him. He was going to come before Sam, but it didn’t matter because it was going to feel so fucking good that he’d let Sam finish however the fuck he wanted, which would probably be jerking off on Dean’s face – and oh fuck _yes_ , that image was getting him the rest of the way there in a hurry...  
  
Making ineloquent sounds, Dean felt his balls draw up tight to his body, heat coiling thick at the base of his spine, his thighs shaking and...  
  
“Oh, fu- GAH! JESUS CHRIST!”  
  
Dean rose up, almost head-butting Sam, as agony scorched bright and hot through his foot at the same time that he shot his load, causing a confusing backfiring of sensations in his body. It was almost nauseating, and the most overwhelming feeling to come out of the mess was a deep, throbbing ache through his groin and abdomen, where the intense pleasure had morphed into discomfort.  
  
“Dean, what’s wrong?” asked Sam breathlessly, concerned about the piteous expression on Dean’s face. He flinched back slightly as it abruptly changed into deep black rage.  
  
“That fucker ruined my orgasm!” roared Dean, staring incredulously at the zombie/demon/possibly Lucifer’s new vessel that was eyeing his bleeding foot with an unbearably self-satisfied expression.  
  
It opened its beak and uttered a shrill cry, which sounded suspiciously like a mocking laugh to Dean’s ears.  
  
“Right, that’s it,” he fumed, shoving Sam off him so hard that he went flying off into the sand with an undignified “oof!” He reached underneath the other side of the blanket and pulled out his Taurus, thumbing the hammer back as he aimed it at the awfully surprised seagull. With a loud boom, an astonished screech and a cloud of feathers, the bird was history.  
  
“Didn’t see that coming, did you, bitch? Teach you to fuck with Dean Winchester when he’s getting laid!”  
  
Sam looked at the splatter of exploded seagull with a horrified expression, although he was less worried about the ten-foot radius of gore and half-digested fish than he was about the fact that he was sitting bare-assed in the sand. And _wet_ bare-assed no less. He could already feel every single grain of sand in the immediate vicinity gleefully adhering itself to his crack.  
  
And he hadn’t come yet either. Again! Son. Of. A. Bitch.  
  
“Dean!” he whined.  
  
Dean began to half-heartedly apologise, but he was cut off by the sound of loud, merry voices whooping and hollering, and what sounded like a Beyoncé song. Not that he knew, obviously.  
  
“Uh...What’s that sound?”  
  
Sam cocked his head. What it sounded like, and couldn’t possibly be because they’d already had more than enough bad luck to last several lifetimes, was a group of drunk college kids heading for a party on the beach.  
  
Fuck.  
  
Sam scrambled to his feet, desperate to dress himself before the group headed over the rise and literally stumbled right over them. Unfortunately, his inside-out-and-hanging-off-one-boot jeans had other ideas. As he cursed and fumbled, hopping around and immediately face-planting in the sand, Dean observed casually, “You know, if you’d just taken your boots off, you wouldn’t be having this problem...”  
  
Incensed, sure that he was about three seconds away from flashing college kids (which would really be yet another awesome crime to add to his already stellar rap sheet), he reached down and snatched up the end of the blanket. He then tugged it as hard as he could, flipping his shocked brother off into the sand and swiftly wrapping it around his waist.  
  
Dean really wished that he’d taken a second to put on his pants before he’d teased his asshat little brother. Because now he was facedown – and, more importantly, _dick_ -down – in the sand. _Wet_ dick. He was gonna look like a fucking corndog.  
  
Picturing all the grievous bodily harm he intended to inflict on Sam later, Dean quickly gathered up his clothes and tried to battle his way into them, managing to stand himself up and pull his jeans all the way to mid-thigh before fifteen kids with flashlights topped the slight rise to their left.  
  
Awesome.  
  
The group stilled as one, their mouths gaping open at the sight that greeted them. Even the music ground to a halt.  
  
Dean hurriedly fumbled his cock back into his pants while Sam stood there stiffly, a blanket wrapped around his crotch and his jeans trailing behind him in the sand like a bridal train. Trying to muster some dignity, he squared his shoulders and nodded politely to the group as he reached down to retrieve the picnic hamper. “Good evening.”  
  
Finally dressed again, Dean tried fruitlessly to kick some sand over the stinking remains of the seagull, hoping to sop up some of the blood. “Howdy.”  
  
The kids continued to gape at them, slack-jawed (although a couple had the presence of mind to snap a few pictures with their camera phones for Facebook), so Sam and Dean walked stiffly past them, both limping slightly as sand insinuated itself everywhere it could reach.  
  
Sighing, deciding that he was already about as humiliated as it was possible to get anyway, Dean reached out and took Sam’s hand, holding it all the way back to the Impala.  
  
“Let’s never do that again,” suggested Sam.  
  
“Good thinking.”  
  
“I feel like someone’s sandpapering my ass.”  
  
“Lucky you. They’re sandblasting my dick.”  
  
“Shower?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Shower sex?” asked Sam dubiously, but with a hint of hope. After all, he _still_ hadn’t come.  
  
Dean raised his eyebrows, remembering their last attempt. He’d had quite enough excitement for one night without adding GBH, property damage and ass bubbles to the list.  
  
“How about some nice, safe, boring bed sex?”  
  
“Oh, thank God,” agreed Sam with relief.  
  
  
  
THE END  
  



End file.
